


i know you're leaving (and there's no more next time)

by ThreeCrowsInATrenchcoat



Series: Wash Away the Rain (Winter Soldier AU) [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (like one sentence, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Janus is the Winter Soldier, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Remus being Remus, Remus is also the Winter Soldier, Swearing, Team Let Virgil Say Fuck, Winter Soldier AU, just patton observing janus' behavior), logan has an asthma attack, some sexual innuendos as a result, this AU started as a 5k one-shot what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeCrowsInATrenchcoat/pseuds/ThreeCrowsInATrenchcoat
Summary: Janus’ hand closed around the knife he’d managed to smuggle out of the kitchen that afternoon. He moved in one fluid motion, fueled by the sudden surge of adrenaline pushed through his veins. Moments after being jerked awake, Janus was on his feet, with the tip of his knife pressed firmly to the Duke’s throat.The Duke hardly moved from where he sat, perched on the back of the couch like a gargoyle, with…  Janus squinted into the gloom. Was that a half-gallon of milk in one hand, and a jar of Nutella in the other?(or: the Duke's Day Off, Logan is just This Close to losing his marbles, Patton believes that cookies fix everything, and the boys make a plan.)
Series: Wash Away the Rain (Winter Soldier AU) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929958
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	i know you're leaving (and there's no more next time)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! Please read parts 1, 2, and 3 first. Otherwise this won't make any sense. 
> 
> Please check the tags. This story involves discussion of missing/untrustworthy memories, implied torture and brainwashing, and just general Dealing With Trauma stuff. Feel free to ask for more details if a particular tag worries you. 
> 
> Enjoy!

See, just because subtlety wasn’t his strong suit, didn’t mean he _couldn’t_ do it. Sure, his strongest suit was his birthday suit, followed immediately by _sheer, unrestrained chaos_ , but the Duke wasn’t _all_ smash-and-grab. He could do subtle when he wanted to. It was just extremely rare that he wanted to. 

This, however, was one of those rare times. He’d actually left all his weapons behind (well, as long as you didn’t count the brass knuckles in his back pocket and the butterfly knife tucked into his boot, which he definitely was not counting). Then, he’d stopped into the nearest Wal-Mart to swap his usual green-and-black leather attire for jeans and a t-shirt that said “I don’t give a” above a picture of a rat and a donkey. He even took a few minutes in the crowded bathroom to sort out his messy hair, until he almost didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. 

The Duke wondered briefly how much trouble he would be in if he just turned around and went home now. Sure, he’d be in trouble for leaving in the first place, but maybe if he just went straight back, they wouldn’t be so mad. Then, he decided he didn’t really care, and he was going to find Dee no matter what. They’d already done their worst to him, and he could take it laughing. So he set off for the university. 

They always briefed the Duke and Deceit together, whether they were on the same mission or not. Something about him being “less disruptive” when Dee was around, whatever that meant. He thought his contributions were extremely important, thank you very much. But after that one time he’d made a whitecoat cry by pointing out that they’d actually be doing all those cows a favor by including the farm in the blast radius because _honestly_ it was way better than the slaughterhouse (and he’d even provided a highly detailed pros and cons list proving his point), they had made sure to keep the two of them together for mission briefings as often as possible. 

This time, they’d sent Dee to a university with four targets. PhD students, or something. The Duke had really only been half-listening at that point, because he was too busy wondering what PhD could possibly stand for besides “Penis-Having Degree”; but he’d heard enough to know where Deceit was going and who he was after. And since that was the last place he’d been sent before the whole “head meet wall” incident, the Duke figured it was as good a place to start as any. 

He wandered around the university grounds for a few hours. It was boring. Everyone was in such a hurry to get from one place to another, darting about like lemmings with stacks of books clutched to their chests. Nobody seemed to even notice the Duke, much less pause to consider whether or not he was supposed to be there. In fact, the only real interaction he had was with the guy on the skateboard who collided with him in front of the library. He’d kept the skateboard, because one look was all it took to send this kid scrambling off in the opposite direction, and zooming around on that turned out to be way more fun than just walking. 

He was about to move on to Plan B, which largely consisted of bursting into random classrooms (maybe not the best plan, but it sure sounded fun), when a face in the crowd caught his attention. He moved closer to the young man in the uptight polo-and-tie combo, and realized abruptly that this face was familiar. It was one of Dee’s targets. Fucking finally.

The man was moving across the campus with purpose, and following him was far too easy. He unwittingly led the Duke to the opposite end of campus- an area that was much quieter than the one they had come from- and into a building that, judging by the few glances the Duke spared into the rooms he passed, seemed to be largely composed of offices and labs. 

He paused, peering around the corner to watch as the man unlocked a door and stepped inside. The Duke waited for a few moments, before approaching the door himself and risking a glance though the small window just off to the right. Inside, four familiar faces were gathering around a desk laden with books, papers, and coffee cups. 

Deceit had definitely been here. All four of his targets were here. Alive, still, somehow, which basically never ever happened.

The Duke glanced to the sign under the window, which along with a room number, included four names: Logan Crofter, Virgil Stratus, Remy Ballari, and Emile Picani.

He could find anyone with a first and last name. 

Now that he had a goal, there was very little that could stop the Duke. After a quick visit to the registrar’s office (people really ought to learn to lock their computers, even when the fire alarm is going off, _geez_ ), he had two addresses to pay visits to. 

Dee was at one of these places. The whitecoats knew that much. They had said so when they assumed he wasn’t listening. They had people watching Dee, which made things just extra complicated, because he himself needed to make sure those people didn’t see him and cart him off back home before he was ready. 

This was more fun than he’d had in _years_. Maybe subtle wasn’t so bad.

He chose to start with the address closest to campus, because skateboarding around was actually starting to get a bit tiring. He found a nice big, leafy tree right across the street from the house and parked himself on a branch half-way up. Really, this was almost too easy. Like taking poisoned candy from a dead baby, as the saying goes. 

And on the subject of too easy, it took him all of about twenty seconds to pick out G.I. Joe Numero Uno hanging out at the bus stop at the end of the street, as well as Numero Dos and his Krypto the Superdog, who passed by the house a few minutes later. And again, half an hour later. And again half an hour after that. Subtle. 

Shaggy and Scooby Doo had passed the house three times and were out of sight when a rattling old truck with peeling purple paint rolled up and parked itself in the driveway. The Duke had been half-dosing out of sheer boredom, having already shredded each leaf he could reach without falling out of the tree, but he perked up at the commotion at the front door.

And just for a moment, there was Dee. 

The Duke was startled by the rush of emotions that shot through him. For a minute, he was angry. Angry at Dee for being here, instead of being home. If he’d just stayed at home, everything would be normal. The Duke wouldn’t have had to come out here and find him. The Duke wouldn’t have had to hurt him. 

The anger made sense. The anger was familiar. He was usually some level of angry, pissed off, annoyed, or at the very least, frustrated. But what wasn’t familiar was the… was that _relief_? At the sight of Dee? At the visual confirmation that yes, Dee was here; yes, Dee was _alive_?

Rather than examine that one too closely, the Duke pulled out his butterfly knife and carved obscenities into the bark of the tree until the sun went away. Then, under the cover of night, the Duke went inside. 

\- - -

Janus’ hand closed around the knife he’d managed to smuggle out of the kitchen that afternoon. He moved in one fluid motion, fueled by the sudden surge of adrenaline pushed through his veins. Moments after being jerked awake, Janus was on his feet, with the tip of his knife pressed firmly to the Duke’s throat. 

The Duke hardly moved from where he sat, perched on the back of the couch like a gargoyle, with… Janus squinted into the gloom. Was that a half-gallon of milk in one hand, and a jar of Nutella in the other?

The incongruity of the situation was what slowed Janus’ racing mind until he could actually _think_ instead of acting on instinct. He did not lower the knife, though. The Duke was grinning at him.

“Ooo, DeeDee, the last time you pulled a knife on me, we were doing the horizontal tango!” he exclaimed. His voice was too loud in the dark and quiet of the room. “...Well, I was, at least. I think you were trying to sleep.”

“Why are you here?” Janus snarled. He dug the knife in fractionally deeper. The Duke still didn’t seem concerned, though his grin did falter. “Did they send you?”

“Who, the Nerd Brigade? Or Guns-for-Brains? Dee, I’m insulted.”

His arm was starting to hurt already. He wondered if he’d pulled open his wounds by standing up so quickly, but another burst of adrenaline pushed that thought right out of his head. 

“Then _why_?” He pressed even harder. A droplet of blood rolled down the Duke’s neck to stain the collar of his shirt, and that was the moment Janus fully registered how the Duke was dressed. The words slipped out unintentionally. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

The Duke’s eyes flickered down toward his grey t-shirt as if he’d forgotten what it looked like. “Do you not like it?” he asked, voice far too earnest. “I can take it all off if you’d rather-”

“No,” Janus cut him off quickly. Another drop of blood slid down the Duke’s neck. “Don’t you dare. Just. Answer the question.”

“Well, I’m wearing clothes, Dee-”

“ _Why_ are you here?”

The Duke shrugged. He took a long swig from the half-gallon container of milk. He swirled it around in his mouth for just long enough for Janus to feel like screaming in frustration, consequences be damned. Then, miraculously, he swallowed the milk, smacked his lips loudly, and replied, “I came looking for you, Sweeny Toddler. Heard you got yourself all jumbled up and lost. I came to bring you home.”

Janus flinched, though he had tried very hard not to. That was what he had been afraid of hearing. The Duke made a small, choked sound, and Janus realized he had pressed the knife blade deeper into the Duke’s neck than he’d meant to. He, however, did not draw away. 

“I’m not going back.”

“Why not?”

“What the hell do you mean ‘why not’?”

“Did I knock a few screws loose when I whacked your head like it was a tee-ball? I mean why not?”

“Because I’m not,” Janus snapped. The Duke just stared at him. If Janus didn’t know any better, he’d think he saw an expression of hurt flash through those bright green eyes. 

But he did, so he didn’t. 

The Duke moved suddenly, tumbling backward off from his perch to put the couch between them- somehow without spilling a drop of milk. Janus let him go. 

“You’re never any fun, DeeDee,” the Duke whined- actually _whined_ \- and then he surprised Janus. He turned and began to walk away. 

“Janus." The name escaped him before his mind could catch up. The Duke paused, and glanced over his shoulder. “My name is Janus.”

The Duke gave him a look somewhere between curiosity and hurt. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his back to Janus, and wordlessly disappeared into the kitchen. 

Janus stood there, dumbfounded by the strange sequence of events, until the rational part of his brain rebooted and he hastily followed after the Duke. 

He made it into the kitchen just in time to see the Duke swipe something that had been taped to the refrigerator and then dart out the back door without a second glance. 

Janus stood there, peering through the open door and into the darkness beyond, for a long time. 

\- - -

“Who the hell drank all the milk?” Virgil called from the kitchen. “I swear we had a full carton in here, like, yesterday.”

Logan glanced up from his work to see Virgil leaning into the livingroom with an annoyed expression on his face. Logan shrugged, because he didn’t drink dairy milk, and next to him on the couch, Roman didn’t even bother looking up from the student script he was viciously hacking away at with a red pen. 

“Are you sure it’s not in there, Virge?” Patton’s voice came from the kitchen. Virgil grumbled something about how he’d already checked every inch of the fridge, voice fading as he retreated back into the kitchen. Logan returned his attention to his work. It was frustrating, trying to work here. Logan loved his friends, of course, but they could all be… loud. Loud and occasionally inconsiderate of his personal space. Exhibit A: Roman, who over the course of the last five or so minutes, had managed to move from “sitting nearby” to “practically sprawled on top of” him. For the third time that morning. 

And then there was… the unexpected guest.

Presently, Janus was seated at the kitchen table while Patton coaxed him into eating, speaking as if he were just another of his patients in the pediatrics ward. Their presence was why Logan had moved out to the living room in the first place. Partially because if he had to hear one more “that’s great, kiddo! How about another bite, you can do it!” from Patton, he might actually throw his textbooks across the table; and partially because Janus’ presence unnerved him. 

Where Virgil saw an old friend in trouble, and Patton saw someone hurt and scared and in need of comfort, Logan still saw the person that had, apparently, been sent to kill him and one of his closest friends. From a purely logical standpoint, there was absolutely no reason why he should still be in the house.

Logan had tried to point this out to the others, of course, but it was a lost cause. Virgil was well aware of the risks, and was choosing to ignore them. Patton was a figurative “bleeding heart” who was constantly bringing home injured stray dogs and cats (and on one memorable occasion, a raccoon) into the house to nurse back to health; he had already adopted Janus as his newest project. He had at least hoped to talk some sense into Roman, but infuriatingly, even Roman seemed more than ready to welcome the stranger into their household.

“You just don’t understand, because you’ve never lost anybody,” Roman had said. It was, technically, true- but Logan could not figure out why that statement had hurt so much. 

So, Logan worried alone. 

Because beyond the obvious issue, another, more glaring problem sat waiting to be observed. Nobody had said it out loud yet. In fact, Logan wondered who else among them even realized the greater issue: Janus had been _sent._

Janus had been sent by someone, someone with the resources necessary to either acquire or create their own “secret agent assassin-spy,” as Roman had to eloquently put it. Someone who had figured out who Logan and Virgil were, where they worked, and even _what_ they were working on; and with all that, had made the decision to kill them. 

That someone almost certainly knew where they lived. 

“Has anyone seen my paring knife?” Patton called from the kitchen. “Gosh, I coulda sworn I put it away after dinner!” 

Logan shut his textbook and stood up. Roman made a noise of protest and nearly fell over when the body that had been supporting most of his weight was abruptly removed.

“Woah there, Specs, where’s the fire?”

Logan gave him a look. “There is no fire. Our smoke detectors are functioning properly, so we would all know-”

“Figure of speech, Microsoft Nerd,” Roman sighed. He righted himself and rearranged his papers. “Is everything Gucci? You look… I dunno, somehow more brow furrow-y than usual.”

“There is no cause to be concerned.” By Roman’s expression, Logan suspected his delivery had not been as convincing as intended, but he continued nonetheless. “I merely have to make a quick trip to the store.”

“Didn’t Panic at the Everywhere say it’s best we try and stay home if we can? You know, what with Mr. Smith in here, with Mrs. Smith still at large?” 

“He did. Due to Janus, and the potential for another like him. I did not realize their last name was Smith.”

“It’s… it’s a movie reference, Logan.”

“Ah. Well, regardless, I’m just going to the convenience store down the street. I will not be long.”

Roman shrugged, already turning his attention back to the student script he was grading. “Suit yourself. Don’t bring home any more assassins though, one is more than enough.”

Rather than stand there trying to come up with a way to respond to that, Logan opted instead to gather his wallet, phone, and keys, and set off outside. He shut the door just as Virgil’s outraged shriek of “Why the _fuck_ is the milk in the goddamn fucking microwave?” echoed across the house. Nope. Not dealing with that. 

He didn’t actually need to purchase anything. He needed some quiet time, alone, so he could think uninterrupted. 

The problem was not Janus. If Janus were the end of it, then Logan would have little else to complain about beyond the sudden addition of a fifth person to a four-bedroom house. He understood Virgil’s protectiveness over his friend, perhaps more than the others gave him credit for. But what was frustrating him was the others’ apparent refusal to acknowledge that this issue did not, in fact, end with Janus.

And Logan could not shake the mental image of the dark, monstrous threat that loomed just out of sight, watching them all. 

Logan shook his head, trying- and failing- to dislodge the childish visual his brain had concocted. They were dealing with an organization. With _people_. Not with some evil monster from one of those fantasy novels Roman and Virgil loved so much. And people had agendas. People had a purpose, a goal. Whatever it was these people were doing, there was a reason for it. And they could not do it all at once; clearly it was necessary that they operate quietly. Piece by piece, striking from the shadows. This required structure, careful planning, and-

Suddenly the ground slipped out from beneath his foot, and as he was falling, he dimly registered the skateboard that had appeared in his path; then, something grasped the back of his shirt, halting his fall. Logan felt himself be spun about sharply until his back connected with the brick wall. His glasses clattered to the pavement, and it took Logan a few seconds to regain his balance. In those few seconds, the blurred shape of a person appeared to his right. Leaning against the wall. Uncomfortably close. 

“‘Sup, Calculator Watch?” the person said. His voice was high and nasally, and entirely too loud, but underneath it all, it almost sounded familiar. “Maybe you should… _watch_ where you’re going?” 

“My mistake,” Logan said, even though he was fairly certain it was not, in fact, his mistake. Something about this man’s voice set him on edge. “By any chance, did you see where my glasses fell?”

There was movement as the figure leaned over, then straightened up with a black blur in his hands, presumably Logan’s glasses. Logan reached out for them, and frowned when the man pulled them out of reach.

“I’d like those back,” he said irritably. 

“So what’s up with DeeDee? What’d you guys do to him?”

“What?”

“Dee. He’s officially lost his marbles if he’d rather stay with the Brady Bunch instead of coming home with me.”

Logan attempted to step away, to put space between himself and the stranger. A hand struck him hard in the chest, and his back hit the wall again. His lungs shuddered under his ribcage.

“So that’s why I’m asking. What’d you guys do to him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan managed. 

“Really? I thought you were the smart one, what with the tie and all. Or do you just use your ties for other, more fun things?” 

Logan made another half-hearted grab for his glasses, but again they were held just out of reach.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so. I’m gonna ask one more time, which is really weird for me because usually by this point I’d be painting your face with your own blood. But I’m trying really hard to be subtle today. What did you people do to Dee?”

Logan flinched as the pieces finally fell into place. 

“You’re… the Duke?” he asked cautiously, recalling Patton’s dismayed ramblings from the evening before. 

“I am!” the man practically crowed. “Usually people are too dead to care what my name is.”

“And, you’re looking for Janus.”

“Deceit,” the Duke said, too quickly. “That’s his name.”

“Deceit, then,” Logan amended, if only because he did not want his face painted with his own blood.

“It’s the weirdest thing, Specs. Dee’s like, the golden child. The whitecoats fucking love him. One-hundred and one percent mission success rate and all that jazz. Oh, and he likes jazz. Apparently jazz makes me violent,” the Duke was gesturing wildly with both hands as he spoke. That, too, seemed strangely familiar in a way Logan could not quite place. “Then one day he runs into you lot and suddenly he’s refusing to come home. And he won’t even stab me properly now, he used to love stabbing me!” 

“I truly do not know how to respond to that,” Logan admitted. To his surprise, the Duke let out a small sigh.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then, Logan cleared his throat.

“Well, given that I am still alive, I take it you’re not here to kill me?”

“Nah. I’m not really in the mood. Besides, I don’t have any of my fun weapons right now.”

“...Thank goodness for that. May I have my glasses back? Then perhaps we can discuss this… predicament.”

Logan honestly had no idea if that would work, but when faced with such erratic behavior, there was not much else he could come up with. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief (and annoyance) when the Duke shifted, and suddenly his glasses were placed lop-sided onto his face. He pulled away out of instinct and adjusted his glasses, before finally looking over at the Duke. 

And then he immediately removed his glasses, cleaned them on the hem of his shirt, put them back on, and- yup. Still him. Paler skin, wilder eyes, shorter hair… but otherwise, the splitting image of Roman. Except wearing an outfit Roman wouldn’t be caught dead in. Literally.

The Duke waved a hand in front of Logan’s face, looking annoyed.

“Yoo-hoo, anyone home?”

“Y-yes,” Logan adjusted his tie. “Thank you.”

The Duke gave him a strange look, then shrugged. “So, you nerds really didn’t do anything to Dee?”

“Not to my knowledge, you have my word.” 

Logan wasn’t sure what he was expecting in response to his words, but it certainly was not for the Duke to visibly deflate. His face fell, then his whole body, as he slumped against the wall and slid down it to the ground. Logan awkwardly took a step back.

“Um. I’m sorry? Was that not the answer you were hoping for?”

“Not really. Least if you were keeping him there, I could blow up your house and take him home.” Logan winced. “But if he decided to stay, I guess maybe I shouldn’t do that.”

“I think that is the correct conclusion,” Logan said quickly.

“Didn’t bring any C-4 anyway. Maybe some thermite and a car would work.”

“That might, depending on the fuel level of the car and its proximity to other flammable elements of the house- no, wait. No. We are off topic.” Logan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wondering if what he was about to say was a bad idea or not. It was. “Did you… perhaps wish to discuss this matter with J- um. With Deceit?”

“Nah. Already did.” The Duke stood up suddenly, and looked toward the sky. Logan’s brain was still stuck on the phrase “already did” and the implications of those words, so he didn’t fully register that the Duke seemed to be staring directly at the sun. Then, “Hey, it’s nine fourty-two. I gotta go.”

Logan glanced at his watch. The minute hand had just crossed over the forty-third tick mark. Uncanny. Suddenly, the Duke grabbed his hand and gave it an awkward, slightly-clammy shake.

“Hey thanks, nerd. Good talk.”

“Wait, Rem-”

It was too late. The Duke had already hopped on his skateboard and was rapidly vanishing down the street. 

Logan stood there, completely dumbfounded by the entire encounter, for about three minutes. Then, he turned and sprinted the whole way back to the house. He burst through the front door, ran for the kitchen, and skidded to a stop just in time to avoid slamming into Patton. Patton made a noise of concern and reached out to steady him, while Virgil and Roman gave him curious looks from the kitchen table. 

Between strangled gasps, Logan managed to force out the words, “The Duke… it’s _Remus._ ”

\- - -

“What on earth happened to you?”

The Duke plopped down on the bed beside him, gushing wounds and all. He looked slightly maniac. 

“He had a gun, Dee!” he exclaimed, gleeful. Deceit rolled his eyes.

“So you let him put several holes in you?”

“The more holes, the better, right?”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Stay there.” 

Deceit got up and crossed the room to where his duffle bag of supplies sat on a chair. This safehouse was one of the smaller ones, and not as well-stocked as the others. So he was glad he’d had the foresight to shove a med kit in alongside his weapons and rations. 

He returned to the bed, where the Duke was now starfished out on his back. Deceit shoved his leg over so he had room to sit down.

“How many?”

“Five!” the Duke grinned up at him. His eyes were slightly unfocused. “Three went straight through, though.”

“For the love of-” Deceit bit off the lecture that rose to his tongue. The Duke had heard it all before, and still he continued to ignore it. It would be a waste of breath. Instead, he pulled off his silk gloves and slipped them into his pocket; then, he started carefully peeling away the layers of leather the Duke was clothed in.

“I can’t believe I have to get shot to get you to undress me, Dee,” the Duke teased. Deceit flicked him on the forehead. 

“Stop it. Or would you rather I let you bleed to death?”

The Duke seemed to genuinely consider the very-rhetorical question; but he did, at least, stay quiet while Deceit freed him from his leather jacket. His bare chest was smeared with blood.

“For fuck’s sake, Duke,” Deceit hissed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were _trying_ to get shot.”

The Duke didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew there was a small part in each of them that hoped and prayed that every new mission would be their last. 

Deceit worked mostly in silence, speaking only to rouse the Duke if he drifted too close to unconsciousness. He dug out the two remaining bullets, cleaned the wounds, and sewed up the ones that needed it. It was routine. They had been here before, and they’d be here again. Again and again, until one of them didn’t make it back.

Deceit placed the last strip of gauze, then patted the Duke’s chest with just enough force to make him flinch.

“There, you’ll live,” he said. The Duke blinked up at him.

“My hero. Next time will you dress up in a nurse's outfit? I think you could pull it off.”

“Shut up. We have a few hours left to wait. Get some rest.”

He leaned over to set the med kit on the nightstand, when suddenly he felt arms around his waist. He glanced down and sighed.

“Really?”

“C’mon, Dee,” the Duke’s voice was muffled. His face was pressed against Deceit’s side. “I got shot today!”

Normally, Deceit would have pushed him away. Left the bed, and curled up in the uncomfortable chair until their handlers came to collect them. Normally… normally touch would not be so comforting.

But today, Deceit just sighed again, and wordlessly laid down beside his friend. 

\- - -

Looking at Janus kind of made Patton want to cry. Because Janus reminded him of the kids who came into the clinic with hand-shaped bruises and broken bones that definitely didn’t come from “skateboarding” or “soccer practice” or whatever excuse their guardians tried to make up. He was cautious with every movement, and avoided eye contact. He was always alert and watchful, but he startled any time anyone got too close. And he seemed hesitant to trust the food that was offered. 

Actually, now that he thought about it, Janus was acting a lot like how Virgil had been way back when he’d first met him, freshly discharged from the army and learning the hard way that PTSD recovery isn’t linear. But then throw in all that awful stuff they’d done to Janus to make him forget who he was, and how they’d made him do such terrible things for so long?

Patton so badly wanted to wrap Janus up in a blanket and feed him cookies and protect him from the outside world.

And, ok, maybe that was kind of a silly thing to want to do to a grown man, but… it had worked with Virgil, so…

“You’re making cookies?” Virgil asked when he came back into the kitchen to find Patton pulling out the big blue mixing bowl and the baking sheets. Patton gave him a big grin.

“Yuppers! It’s been a while, and I thought we could all use some double chocolate chip goodness right about now.”

“Don’t try wrapping Janus up in a blanket, I don’t think I could handle him trying to kill _another_ one of my best friends.”

Patton almost dropped the bag of chocolate chips. “Ha! I wasn’t… that’s silly, Virge!”

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil gave him a fond smile. Patton returned it. Then a thought occurred to him. 

“What was he like? Before?”

“Who, Janus?” Patton nodded. “Uh, well… honestly? He was vicious. If anyone ever pissed him off, he made sure they regretted it. But he never gave anyone more than what they’d earned.” With a slight sigh, Virgil sunk into a chair at the kitchen table. He looked sad. “He, uh… some of the guys, in the army, they found out I was trans, and they were real assholes about it. Janus got them demoted and transferred out of the unit.”

Patton wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about _that_ , but… if they were hurting Virgil, then maybe they did deserve it. 

“He sounds like a good friend,” Patton said instead. Virgil smiled, but he still looked sad.

“Yeah. He was.” It sounded like there was more to that statement, but it didn’t come. Patton dumped the last cup of flour into his bowl, then turned to face Virgil. 

“But?”

“But what?”

“Well, it just sounded like there was a great big but at the end of that sentence.” 

Virgil gave him the same look he gave when he knew there was a pun somewhere but he couldn’t quite figure out where it was. Then, he sighed, and he looked sad again.

“But… I don’t know. I feel… bad, I guess.”

“What do you feel bad about?”

Virgil gestured vaguely. “I feel bad about all this, Patton. I feel like… I don’t know, I feel like all this is my fault somehow.” 

Patton almost knocked the mixing bowl off the counter in his haste to rush over to Virgil. He grabbed Virgil’s hands (realizing belatedly that his own hands were covered in flour) and gave Virgil an intense look.

“Now Virgil, I will not have you thinking like that. Are you the one who took him away?”

“No, but-”

“Are you the one who hurt him? Who did all those terrible things to him?”

“No.”

“And are you the one who made him hurt other people? Did you send him here?”

“No, but Patton-”

“Then gosh, kiddo, how could any of this be your fault?”

“Because I stopped looking for him!” Virgil shouted. He tore his hands from Patton’s, and shoved them into his hoodie pockets. “Because he protected me for so long, and… and I stopped looking for him.”

Patton was at a loss for words. Virgil sat in front of him, hunched over and closed off, and Patton so badly wanted to hug him, to hold him close and promise that everything would be alright; but he knew better than to touch Virgil right now. He knew it wouldn’t help. So instead, he backed away, and went back to the cookies. 

“You’re helping him now, though, right?” Patton said when a few minutes had passed, and Virgil’s breathing had evened out again. Virgil nodded fiercely. 

“I’m not letting him disappear again.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I’m just sorry you all got dragged into this-” Virgil started. But a louder voice cut him off.

“Is Pops making cookies?”

Roman wheeled into the kitchen, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Patton grinned back at him.

“Sure am! Double chocolate chip!”

“Heavens above, what ever have I done to deserve you in my life?”

Patton giggled at that, while Virgil grumbled quietly, “Back off, they’re for all of us.”

Then Patton heard the front door open across the house, and he perked up. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had felt a little nervous when Logan had left on his own. They still hadn’t really discussed if it was _safe_ for Logan and Virgil. That nervousness returned tenfold when he heard the footsteps coming rapidly down the hall- Logan _never_ ran in the house- so Patton learned out of the kitchen to make sure everything was ok; and Logan very nearly collided with him. Patton let out a startled squeak and quickly put his hands out to steady Logan. 

Logan was… hyperventilating. Had he just sprinted all the way home? Patton opened his mouth to ask if he was alright, if he needed his inhaler, but before he could, words tumbled out of Logan’s mouth.

“The Duke… it’s _Remus_.” 

The room was silent. Well, except for the frantic sound of Logan still struggling to breathe. Patton snapped into action first. 

“Sit down,” he said, gently guiding Logan to the chair next to Virgil. “I’ll get your inhaler, hang on.”

Then he darted off down the hall to Logan’s room. He nearly bumped into Janus, who was emerging from Virgil’s room in a clean set of clothes. Patton would have apologized for startling him, but he was in too much of a hurry- he blew past Janus, tore through Logan's room to reach the inhaler he kept in the top drawer of his nightstand, then passed Janus again to get back to the kitchen. Logan took his inhaler with a grateful look on his face; gradually, between the medicine and Virgil rubbing circles on his back, Logan’s breathing calmed. He slumped against Virgil, suddenly looking exhausted.

“Geez, L, you haven’t had one that bad in forever," Virgil murmured. "What happened?” 

“Apologies,” Logan’s voice sounded wrecked. He rested his forehead against Virgil’s shoulder for a moment longer before sitting up and adjusting his glasses. “I did not mean to alarm you all. My decision to run home was ill-advised.” 

“Logan,” All three of them turned. Patton hadn’t heard Roman’s voice sound so small and shaky in almost eight years. He was staring at Logan like he’d seen a ghost. “What did you say?”

Logan suddenly looked… nervous? Patton sat down next to Roman, and put a hand on his shoulder. Roman hardly seemed to notice: his eyes were fixed on Logan.

“Roman, I…” Logan hesitated. “I was approached on my way to the store. I asked, and he confirmed himself to be the Duke Janus has mentioned.” Another pause, then, “His appearance was identical to you, Roman.” 

Roman went slack jawed. He looked torn between utter disbelief and… horror?

There was movement near the kitchen door. Patton glanced up and saw Janus looking in warily. 

“Did he hurt you?” Virgil growled- actually _growled-_ and Logan quickly shook his head.

“No. He… it seemed he only wanted to talk.”

Virgil didn’t say anything more, but he did not remove the hand that still rested gently on Logan’s upper back.

“Logan, are you sure? Are you absolutely positive?” Patton asked, because he knew Roman wanted to. Logan looked over at them, and his expression was resolute.

“Yes. Roman, I’m sorry. Perhaps I should not have shared such information in quite so… dramatic of a manner.”

Roman gave a weak laugh that sounded forced. “Specs, I don’t think there was any easier way to say that,” he offered, which seemed like it eased Logan’s concern at least a little. Patton took one of Roman’s hands in his own, because Roman was shaking.

“Eight years, right?” Virgil asked softly, looking at Patton. Virgil and Logan had never met Remus in person, but Patton had. Patton had seen Roman break when his brother had gone missing. It was something that had never fully healed. To Virgil, Patton nodded. 

“You.” Roman said suddenly. He was looking past Virgil and Logan to where Janus lurked, half-hidden in the hall. Virgil startled slightly, and turned to look at Janus as well. “When you first saw me, you thought I was him, didn’t you?”

Janus hesitated. Then, “Yes.”

“That’s why you ran?” Virgil asked.

“Yes.”

Virgil exhaled sharply. Patton could see the hand not touching Logan was picking at a loose thread in the hem of his hoodie.

“ _Fuck_.” Virgil said after a moment. “Fuck these guys.” 

“I agree with that sentiment,” Logan said. 

Patton looked around the room, then glanced over at Janus. Then, looking back to Virgil, he asked, hesitantly, “Well? What do we do?”

“Certainly we should go to the police?” Logan asked, but Virgil shook his head quickly.

“No, we don’t have any proof.”

“We have Janus,” Patton pointed out. Janus' eyes narrowed at the sound of his name. 

“That isn’t enough. And besides, investigations are slow and laborious. These people know what they’re doing, they’ll get rid of any evidence if they hear an investigation’s on its way.” 

“W-would that include..?” Patton couldn’t finish his thought out loud. Couldn’t say Remus’ name. 

“Maybe,” Virgil said, because he’d understood. “Or they would move him, somewhere we couldn’t find.”

“What evidence do we need?” Roman asked. His voice was calm, but underneath, Patton could hear a boiling rage. He squeezed Roman’s hand tightly. 

“Janus?” Virgil turned in his seat to look at Janus, who had moved to stand in the open doorway between the kitchen and the hall. “Did they keep any paper records?”

“Yes,” Janus paused, and seemed to struggle for a moment before adding, “They had files on us both. They also kept digital records of any experiments they performed on us.”

Softly, but with feeling, Patton said, “ _Fuck_ these guys.” Fortunately, nobody seemed to hear him. 

“I could… more than likely acquire the digital records,” Logan said. Virgil gave him a wry smile. 

“I thought your epic hacker days were behind you?”

“They are, but… this seems an appropriate time to put such skills to use.”

“Wait, you’ve actually been cool this whole time?” Roman asked, voice dripping with faux-surprise. Logan ignored him.

“I simply would need to access a terminal inside. It would not take long.”

“Wait. No. No fucking way,” Virgil said hastily. “We can’t do this. It’s so dangerous, what the hell guys?”

“You said so yourself,” Roman pointed out. “We need the evidence.”

“Janus?” Logan turned in his chair to address him. “Do you know how to get back to the headquarters from here?”

Janus hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. 

“No, I’m not letting my best friends go charging off into a den of murderous scientists!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Virgil. They have my brother.”

Something in Roman’s voice cut off whatever else Virgil was going to say. Roman met his gaze for a long moment, then Virgil looked away awkwardly. 

“...We’d need to get the paper files, too,” he said. Slowly, reluctantly, like he was regretting every word even as he said them. “And we’d need you to go with us, Janus. You know the layout. We don’t.”

Janus moved, approaching the table slowly, until all four of them could see him without having to turn around. He looked between Virgil and Roman, and seemed to consider something. Then, wearing an expression Patton usually saw on the faces of his patients who knew their odds weren’t good, but were starting treatment anyway, he said, “I’ll do it. The Du- _Remus_ is my friend. I want him out of there.”

Something flashed across Roman’s face. Relief? Gratitude, maybe? Patton wasn’t sure. 

“Then what?” Patton asked quietly “We… take stolen evidence to the police?”

It was Logan who answered. 

“No,” he said. “We take it to Thomas.”

\- - - 

The Duke stared at the photo in his hands for a long time. Four eyes stared back at him, unblinking. Two of them were his, he was pretty sure. The other two weren’t his, though someone else would definitely think so. But Remus would know his brother’s eyes anywhere.

The door to his room opened, and he hastily shoved the photo under his pillow. Two men stepped into the room, one armed practically to the teeth, and the other a nervous-looking whitecoat. 

“Come on,” the whitecoat said. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

Wordlessly, Remus stood up, and followed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr @threecrowsinatrenchcoat, please come and yell with me/at me.
> 
> You may notice I removed the "all relationships are platonic" disclaimer from the top notes. Well blame Mia for that. Also blame Mia for the line "Ooo, DeeDee, the last time you pulled a knife on me, we were doing the horizontal tango!" The milk in the microwave was her fault too. 
> 
> Some more fun facts:
> 
> -Remus' t-shirt is an actual real shirt sold on WalMart dot com. I hate it so much.  
> -A Stratus is a type of cloud. I liked that a lot for Virgil's last name in this 'verse.  
> -For Remy Ballari, I googled "names that mean vine" because I think I'm hilarious. I don't even know if Sleep was in his vines or if he showed up after that. 
> 
> Part 5 is coming, and it will be the finale for the main story. 
> 
> Title is from "Talking at the Same Time," by Tom Waits, from Janus' playlist.


End file.
